TMNT: Sixth Soul Lost
by scsmith
Summary: A new menace has began hunting the turtles, seeking to kill them. Mixed with a new slant on the origins, this story takes a journey into the mind of a sociopathic soul... who is not too different from the turtles themselves.
1. Chapter 1

The bells over the petshop door rang out as the door was closed back. Bringing attention back to the glass tank, the shopkeeper squinted his eyes to see inside. Picking up a tiny green fish-net, he opened up the lid of the tank and reached inside, scooping up the dead turtle within and taking it out of the pool of water, laying it down on a rag.

"All is well little friend. Your siblings are bought, so don't worry. They are in good hands, I reckon." the shopkeeper said to the dead turtle, which made no reply back. Picking the turtle up and wrapping it up in the rag, he walked to the door of his shop, and the bells jingled once more as he made his way out into the semi-crowded streets. Looking to his right, he could see the boy he had sold the other turtles to. Going to the curb and looking into the gutter, the shopkeeper could see the street drain; there was a hole torn in the center, which left a big enough opening for -----

"Rest in peace, little buddy." the shopkeeper whispered, as he dropped the dead turtle into the drain hole. He could here the "Plop!" as it hit the water, and he straightened back up, turning and going back into his shop.

At that moment, the boy with the other 5 turtles, let out a startled cry. A large truck that was out of control zoomed by at a fast speed, a canister flying out of its back and twirling in the direction of the boy. The canister hit the glass bowl and it was decimated into thousands of pieces, as the turtles fell in a hole on the side of the street. The boy got on his knees, and looked into the hole, but there was no sign of his pets... the hole was too deep. The canister had went with the turtles.

"I am the forsaken. The lost soul who wasn't meant to be with the others."

"And how does your sob story benefit me?"

"I have no loyalties to my brothers and my sister. No emotional connection. If you pay me the right amount, Hun, I will be obliged to erase them from your checklist."

"Don't have to pay you anything until you get the job done. Expect nothing until you hand me their heads... including their master. If you can dispose of Splinter, I may consider apologizing for ever doubting you. Eh'... what did you say your name was again?"

"For so many years I had no name. Not until my master found me. He named me Plato."

"Fine. Get out of my sight for now. You have no place with me unless you prove yourself. You know the deal."

Inside of the deepest caverns of south New York City, there lives two mutants who the world knows nothing about. No rumours have yet been spread throughout the masses, no sightings, and no mention. They keep secret, and to themselves. Always in the dark they work, and during the day they sleep. One is the master, the other the student. Working to acheive their means, and planning their future battle with their counterparts.

If the shopkeeper had known what would become of the dead turtle he tossed into the drains, he would have witheld his hand and threw the turtle in the trash instead. But fate does not change the past, for the past is what sets the darkest futures into motion. Had the turtle been alive at first, the boy would have also bought him. But behold---everything fell into place. When the sixth turtle splashed into the water of the sewers, he floated along, snagging onto some soggy newspapers... as a sliver of ooz made its way in his direction. Pumping life back into his stiff body, the ooz transformed him as it did the other five turtles. But not for the side of good---but for the side of darkness. A darkness that only comes from knowing that you are not part of the group.


	2. Chapter 2

By my hand they shall perish. Into everlasting voids they will fall, one by one, each to their own death. They will be seperate. They will not be together when they die... they will be apart from their brothers, while I, the avenger, slay them. I do not mind seeing the blood of my brothers flowing freely, soaking my path as I walk from the death scene. My conscious will give me no complaints when I go to sleep in the morning, as I will know justice has been served to the greatest of degrees. Their cries of anguish and pleads for compromise will only fuel the passion of the moment: the passion of death, and the romance of carrying out revenge. Some say revenge is a dish best served cold, but I intend to put that cliche to rest. Revenge is a fountain, overflowing with water... cold, freezing, relentless waters. The type of freezing cold that bites through the body and shows no mercy. No mercy at all. But to the avenger, the water is tinted with sugar and chocolate; the avenger has the great gift, like a man out in the desert, finally seeing a vision that is not a mirage, but moreso of a heavenly gift. The thirsty man from the desert comes to the fountain, and soaks his dried body, giving it refreshment... divine purpose.

For so long I have studied their moves. Their techniques are flawed, of course, since they serve an inferior master. Unlike my master, Splinter takes it too easy on his pupils. Easiness is not the way out; the simplist solution is never the best solution. Discipline, pain, with a focus on the ultimate goal is the path to follow. My eyes are on the prize, the prize that will be the reaping of my rewards. My reward will be made simpler, because Splinter taught them simple things, while my master taught me difficult things; their disdain for induring injury will bring me an even more swiftness in cleaving off their heads. I know this because I have watched: I have seen all. In the shadows of alleys, on top of buildings, in trash cans... observing, being the fateful spectater that intends on becoming the savior. I have seen them all flince when injured... Raphael is best at blocking out pain; Michalangelo is the weakest, of course; Donetello is like a human, gritting his teeth and trying to ignore it; Leonardo, however, deserves some strain of respect. He is much more like me... perhaps we were born very close in time to each other, perhaps in the same block of ten seconds; perhaps Leonardo and I hatched at the same time, creating a dimensional link between us: he being the yang of Tao, and I being the Yin. I shall kill Leo last... give my mission more of a climactical effect.

What will my weapon be? Katanas. Somewhat shorter than the ones Leo has, though. I will carry four: two on my back for extra protection and supply, and the ones I hold in my hands. I have practiced with my katanas for years, now. My master has instructed me not to deal with other weapons at all, and that I should devote my whole being to only one type of weapon: this way, I can become one with the familiar weapon, and not have to worry about failure at any point in time. I cannot fail, because failure is not an option to be chosen. If failure is not accepted into my personal reality, then it cannot exist to me: therefore I am victory. I am one with victory, and victory lays inside of my katanas.

But then my mind relapses back into thought; sometimes my thoughts go back to the drawing board it was at when I first started training. I know now that I have a sister... that she is skilled in the arts she was taught. Splinter did not train her. Some man from Japan did---but still I know her style like I know the style of her brothers. Venus, my sister, is more passive. Given that she is a female, her motherly instincts hold her back from hurting those who have unprovoked her at the present time; but also those same instincts lash out full-force at those who do step into her circle of privacy. To protect her brothers like a mother would protect her firstborn, is what I like comparing it to. So should I kill her first? Second? Middle? I have payed it much thought. I shall kill her first. Much of the time I have watched her leave the sewers late at night by herself; she is solitary much of the time. Many times I have followed her, attempting to see where my dear sister goes to. Mainly when she sneaks away from her brothers, it is to fight the battels they have forgotten to fight; like robbers in jewelry stores, or the misdemeanors that her brothers don't care about any longer. While I respect her for going off on her own, I will still feel no guilt in decapitating her. I will feel no guilt in issueing great pain upon her... what must be done, has to be done. I must do this. It is what I was trained to do... my master always taught me never to have mercy, and to ignore the natural mind inside which says to 'hold back.' My master said to hold back is to accept failure as an option. I believe him. Therefore, I will not hold back...

I have just seen the sewer lid just move. It slides over and reveals the inky black opening on the street. Venus is climbing out. I cannot help notice her shapely form. When the natural mind of guilt comes flashing back, I try to block it out. Instead of feeling guilty, I must concentrate on the lust to kill her. Not the lust to feel her under me in intercourse... but to kill. Kill Venus. I rise up on my feet, still in the shadows of the nearest building, as I silently follow her. No sound comes from my footsteps, jumps, or landings. Venus scales ladders, buildings; I have to keep quiet, and match all her movements to block out her hyper-sensory of hearing, so that I am not caught in my persuit.

The way she bends---maneuvers her body. Would even human men want her? I know not... try not to care. Maybe it is just the rushes of adrenaline that make me think these thoughts. Adrenaline can fuel purpose and missions. The blood lust is polluting my mind, especially as I keep following her.

A man is in the street, holding a gun to the other man; I know it is a drug deal gone wrong. So does Venus. She leaps down from the building and lands in the middle of the two men, smacking the gun out onto the pavement and making the man buckle over as she pays his mid-section a thrustful kick, sending him backwards and into the bumper of the limousine they are next to.

"HEY! What the hell?" the man cries out. The other man, who was held at gunpoint by the now injured one, turns in the other direction and takes off at a speedy run. Venus raises flaps her arm out, a long blue rope-like cloth appearing, wrapping around the running man's ankles and bringing him down in a hard thud.

"What is it this time? Let me guess. Cocaine?" Venus asks them both, as she goes to examine the limousine's open back. "Yep! I was right. Pills weren't risky enough for you."

The man she kicked into the car (the dealer), is now on his feet, panting, holding his stomach where he was kicked so briskly. "That dude owed me $500. You would shoot someone too if they said you couldn't have your pay!" the dealer says.

Needless to say, Venus took care of both of them, using the dealer's cellphone to call up the nearest police. She vanished from the area, as the sirens were sounded in the distance. She had locked both of the men in the trunk of the limo, leaving them for the officials. I followed again. But not for long. The apartments and businesses were more empty in this part of the city at this time of night... so I made my attack. Venus was climbing a ladder attached to the side of a tall building, and at that moment she was about halfway up. I stood at the foot of the ladder. Flipping my left katana over and catching its blade, I flung the katana at Venus. The blade sliced the chill air, and made its way at her... in a matter of a moment, the katana was lodged in her back shell. Yelling out, my sister let go of the ladder rungs, falling at least twenty feet down to the street below... her landing spot was right in front of my feet. There was a loud crack, as the katana blade went even deeper into her shell, the tip issueing from just below her chest.

"My sister. Your time is over on this plain. Death will be swift, as I suppose you are experiencing much pain right now." I said, raising up my other katana, the blade pointing diagnally upwards, as I prepared to make the final swipe which would take her head off her appetizing body.

She looked up to me, her pupils dialated, and short gasps of shock coming from her mouth. Then she spoke to me. "Leonardo? Is---that you? W-why would you... do this... to me?"

"I am not Leonardo. I am Plato! Your lost brother! YOU DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I EXISTED!" Without my permission, tears welled up in my eyes, as I brought the blade down and took her head off. Looking to the sky, my veins filled with emotion, I let out a long agonizing yell.

As I walked away from her corpse, the tears dribbled down my face. I had almost forgotten to get my other katana, so I went back, turned over her body, and pulled it out of her.

"One down. Four to go. My mission is yet to be complete." I whispered to myself. No longer would I be able to follow my sister in the night, observing her actions. No longer would I be able to lust after her body and let my mind fall into fantasies. Venus was dead. Cold and stiff now... she was a victim of justified revenge. I had killed her.


	3. Chapter 3

"This can't be!" Donatello said, as he knelt down in front of his sister's lifeless and beheaded body, tears drooling from his eyes. His wails of emotional agony echoed through much of the city. But he was not the only one that sobbed uncontrollably. The other three turtles were immersed in guilt, sorrow, and the ultimate feelings of loss... those feelings tore at their souls, flooding their whole being with sorrowful trembling.

Darkness did not withhold itself. Their minds where set on what had happened, but they were too weak from shock to do anything about it just yet. The darkness of the early morning reflected the darkness within... and it would never leave them until as long as they lived.

"WHO THE HELL DID THIS!" Raphael wailed, pounding his fists against the brickwall of the building they were next to. Breaking into hysteric sobs, Michelangelo embraced Raphael, and they sunk down the wall and unto the ground, clutching each other for support. But the answer would not come anytime soon: the WHO or WHY would not be answered soon enough. The hours would melt them like chocolate held to an open flame. The fury of guilt, the guilt that they had not been there to save here. The hate driven by that fury; it sickened them so much to see Venus' corpse. And not just the fact that she was dead, but the fact that she had been killed in such a way. Her head lay a couple of feet from her body, its eyes staring off into the nothingness of the night sky, glazed over like foggy glass.

Leonardo knelt down beside Donatello, his face contorted in rage, sadness, and shock. Reaching up behind his head, he tore off his blue bandana, as an anguished rabbi would have torn his robes down the center. Taking it in his hands, her ripped it to pieces, letting vicious growls escape from between his teeth. The pieces of cloth drifted down on Venus' body, in honor of the life that she had lived. "All of you... do the same as I have done. Now." Leonardo said, reaching over and closing the eyes of his sister's head, as to make it official that they would never open again.

More pieces of bandanas came down... purple, orange, and red. The rays of the first lights of dawn streaked through some of the street they where on... giving them the signal to subside and go back to the sewers. They had come out, looking for their sister, who never stayed out as late as she had... but it was to not fault of her own. An hour ago, little did they know their sister had been slaughtered. Now they knew... now they were hurting on the inside.

"Come on." said Leonardo, picking up the head of his sister and beginning to walk back toward the direction of home. Raph, Mikey, and Don picked up her body, slowely but surely following Leo. They would not remember the trip back. Their vision was blurred by tears. Some of those tears were fresh, some of them were drying and evaporating. No words were exchanged between them... as if the grim reality of what had happened, took on a persona, and had clutched each of their throats, particially choking them so they could not speak, and so that they could barely breath.

They opened the circular lid to the sewers, climbed down with a little trouble, because of their baggage. When they landed on the inside, another scene met their eyes. Their home had been torn about---shattered stone from the walls had come down in large chunks; all the furniture had been ripped and mutilated to shreds; most everything was overturned... most everything was damaged. A thick dust was in the air, like a hellish fog giving bad omens that this day would not be a blessing to them. The dust mixed with their tears, turning it all into mud on their faces. Mud that had to make them squint... to see what had become of their home. To see the intruder that had done all of this. And then the truth layed itself on them, and they came to realize that Splinter was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he was under the rubble?

"My sons! Take out your weapons quickly!" his voice came from nearby. Splinter's voice was weak, and they could instantly tell that he was in much pain. Crouched in a corner, he was all but camoflouged with all the dust in the air... at least he was alive. At least he hadn't been killed like Venus had.

Donetello, Michelangelo, and Raphael, turned the couch back upright, and they layed Venus' body on it, reaching for their weapons. "Master! What happened?" asked Leonardo, going to help his master up to his feet.

"COME NO CLOSER!" Splinter called. A sword blade came into view in front of Leonardo's face, and only thanks to his quick reflexes, did he retreat his head back into his shell. Coming back to the surface, Leonardo took out both of his own swords, and made a dash for the enemy, who was still hidden by the clouds of thick dust in the air. Seeing only a shadowy image of him, Leonardo clashed blades with the enemy... once... twice... three times. A few moments passed. Their blades met again, sending metallic ringing through the sewer room.

The other three turtles, their weapons out, split up and made their way in the direction of the fight. The clashing of blades began to be a constant thing, as Leonardo fought the heated battle with the enemy that had killed their sister and destroyed their home. Raphael could now see the figure Leo was fighting... he was sure it was the one they were after. Crouching down and then springing up into the air, Raphael landed next to the shadowy figure, and then the fight became one versus two.

"Now now, Let's not get too sure of ourselves. Fighting in this room is a tad more dangerous, is it not? I really made it into one big trap, considering the debree and all the dust." Came the voice of the enemy. His katanas kept blocking the way of Raph's and Leo's blades.

Leonardo did a spin, gathering momentum, and then hit the enemies' blades full force with his own, sending a shockwave into their hands, making them both grimace. "You won't leave here alive! After what you have done, you will receive no mercy from me!"

"Who are you, anyway?" asked Raphael, stabbing in the direction of the attacker. 'Cling! Clang!'

"My name... is Plato. I have no last name. I am just simply called Plato." their attacker said; he then managed to knock Raph's right Sai out of his hand; it clanged on the stone floor. For a split second, Raphael turned his attention to his fallen Sai, in which time Plato slashed him under the eye with his katana blade. The cut was deep, and blood squirted from the open wound, as Raphael grunted and picked up his Sai, trying to block out the pain. Leonardo, who was beside him, was panting, loosing breath from the duel that had been going on for several minutes straight. Plato, however, seemed to be enjoying himself.

Little did any of them know that Michelangelo and Donatello had been coming up from behind Plato... but they were fast and quiet. Don raised his staff and smacked Plato on the back of the head, full-force and with great strength. There was a small 'crack!', and Plato let out a strangled yell, turning around and slicing Don's staff down the middle.

With Plato's back exposed, Raphael lunged forward and stabbed both Seis into Plato... "WHAT! He has a shell!" Raphael cried, as Leonardo's right sliced Plato's arm clean open, his left blade coming down straight on his shoulder. With three wounds coming at the same time, Plato let out an agonizing scream of pain. Leonardo ripped his left blade from Plato's shoulder, raising up his foot and kicking his enemy to the ground. This time the 'crack!' was large, as Plato's head hit the stone floor.

A ray of sunlight suddenly streamed into the sewer room from a crack in the ceiling above. The morning was well on its way. The sunlight illuminated the form on the ground, the form that was their enemy. They gathered around, and gasped, as they saw that it was another turtle, much like them. Except that he was much paller, and his bandana was a faded black. Blood gushed from his arm and several places on his head, his breathing becoming labored and forced. All too shocked to do anything yet, Plato looked up at them, a smile crossing his creased mouth.

Without warning, he stretched his leaped from the floor, and hit Michelangelo head-on, sending them both hurling through the air. They both landed behind the couch several yards away, out of sight from the other. Suddenly, there was a disturbing, chilling, and terrifying shriek from behind the house... the shriek belonged to Michelangelo. The other three ran from the area behind the couch that Plato had tackled him.

"NO!" Leonardo called out, as they came to Michelangelo, who was laying on the floor shuddering uncontrollably. Plato had slipped from the scene: he was gone. He had left Mikey there... and something terrible had happened to their brother.

Mikey had his face covered with his hands. It took much prying from Raphael before he would take his hands from his face... but when he did, the other three turtles let out a horrified gasp. Blood drooled from both of his eye sockets. Michelangelo's eyes had been ripped out.


	4. Chapter 4

There are many types of blindness. But it is all similar. Blindness of the mind... the soul... intuition... the eyes. Whichever, it is described as being unable to see or feel past something. Unable to interact with the world from one or more of the senses. As if an inky blackness has eternally layed itself over the person, to make them stop seeing. An inky blackness that is known to plague moonless and cloudy nights---the same blackness that settles in the hearts of some people. But it is all blackness. And it is all dark.

As if in a dreamy daze, the turtles dragged themselves, and master Splinter, in the direction of a destination. They only had a foggy notion of where they were going---so many things hendered their senses at once: sadness, confusion, physical weakness... nothing would subside now. They would have to ride out the storm of what had all happened to them. Especially Michelangelo, who would be going through a storm forever now. His eyes had been torn from their sockets. Plato had stuffed the eyeballs into his mouth and fled the scene... using all his ability to be unseen and completely quiet, in order not to get caught on his way out of the turtle's home. All had managed to rumage up their other sets of bandanas... they had to do some cutting and tearing, but it worked out in the end. Blue, purple, red... and orange. This time, Michelangelo's did not have eye-holes. He was blind now. All he could see was inky blackness.

The four turtles walked for several miles in the city. Mikey was in between Donatello and Leonardo, and Splinter was being supported by Raphael. "My sons. How much further?" Splinter asked, his head drooped in exhaustion from having to travel all morning. His hair was more faded than usual, and his eyes were almost completely bloodshot.

"Just a few more streets to the west, master Splinter. Don't worry. I promise we'll be there soon." Leonardo said, letting out a long sigh from the weight on his shoulders.

"My eyes..." Michelangelo said absentmindedly, his feet fumbling on a beer bottle in front of him.

Hoisting him up once more, the two turtles on either side of him gave him concerned looks. "Are your sockets bleeding again, Mikey?" asked Donatello. Michelangelo nodded, and let out a sob that he had been stifling for a very long time. His brothers had put bandages underneath his bandana... but they were soaked once more with fresh blood.

Then they were there: in front of April O' Neil's apartment. They opened the door and climbed up the stairs to where her room was. Whole minutes later, they were knocking on her door. There came no answer. Leonardo knocked harder this time... harder once again, before the door swung open, revealing April wrapped in a sheet, her hair ruffled. "Guys? What's wrong?" she asked.

Everyone sat down in her living room, and a long discussion about the events of the past 24 hours unfolded. When the turtles were done telling April all that had happened, she looked speechless and skeptical. "Where is he then? I hope to God you didn't lead him here! What are you trying to do, put my life in danger?" April exclaimed, hopping to her feet and pacing the room.

"You're the only person we can go to April." Raphael said. He was especially fond of April this evening, considering all she was wearing was a sheet. Raph had always had an attraction for April... or moreso April's body. Leonardo, however, was the one that preferred her personality.

"Raphael is correct. You are the only person to take homage in. We never intended to put your life in danger." Splinter said weakly. He had dozed off several times during the discussion.

Suddenly, a figure appeared at April's bedroom door. His body was covered in shadows, so it was not obvious who he was. Leonardo and Raphael stood up and took out their weapons, glaring at the figure in the door frame. "Sweetums? Why are the turtles here?" came his voice. Leo and Raph immediatly put their weapons away: as Casey Jones walked into the living room and sat down where April had been sitting moments before. He was dressed in boxer shorts.

Raphael stared at Casey. "You two in the bedroom... I don't even want to know what you were doing." he said. Casey flashed him a smug smile and lit a cigerette, quickly filling the room will smoke.

"So..." he said, looking at Michelangelo. "What happened to him?" April told him the story. Casey frowned and got up, going into the kitchen. "Why did they come here then? He could still be following him, couldn't he?" Casey asked from the kitchen, coming back and walking to the front door with a large bag of trash in his hands. "It's trash day. I have to go outside whether I want to or not."

"I'll go with you!" said Raphael, walking up to Casey. "That loser probably just standing outside of the door. Might as well bring your hockey stick... and mask. He likes to go for your face." Raph pointed to the large cut on his cheek, and quickly went into April's room, coming back out a moment later with Casey's supplies.

"It won't take me two seconds!" Casey said.

"Doesn't matter, Casey!" Michelangelo said.

Splinter looked up at the rest of the group. "He is. Casey---go outside with Raphael. The rest of us will follow shortly afterwards. Go."

Casey sighed and put down the trash, slipping on his mask and taking his hockey stick in both hands. Heading out the door, he and Raph's footsteps could be heard on the stairs outside. April went over and sat next to Michelangelo, helping him with his bandages. "Thanks, April." he said, patting her on the shoulder.

"STAY BACK YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

They all set up suddenly. It was Casey's voice coming from outside of the apartment building. April ran over to the window and opened it, looking out. "He's out there! That thing is attacking them really viciously!" April said. "You guys need to get out there quickly..." she turned. She was the only one in the room now... the turtles and Splinter had already left to go help. She couldn't help but smile slightly.

The battle against Plato turned to one versus two, into one versus six. Swords clashed, and sticks smacked. Casey had no yet managed to get his hockey stick chopped in half, which was a very good sign. Even though his weapon was seemingly not as good as any weapon of the turtles, his ability to fight got him through very far. Donatello payed several heavy thumps and thuds to Plato's body, while Leonardo was the one who fought their enemy face-to-face, to the point that they could feel one another's breath. Splinter had borrowed the other bo staff from Don. Michelangelo and Raphael swept in at the enemy from the behind and the sides. Even though he was blind, Mikey still could sense where the enemy was, and his other senses were more accute to the sounds of incoming attacks: like a katana blade slicing the air and coming toward him. Many a time Plato suffered large blows to the head from Mikey's nunchakus. And many a time did the side of good suffer wounds.

Moments became many seconds, and seconds slipped into minutes, and minutes slipped into a quarter of an hour. Like last time they encountered Plato, he did not seem to grow tired, only more angry and less humourful about the fight. No more wise-cracks or taunts came from him as time went on and the battle grew more intense. With each clashing of each weapon, it was apparent that Plato was probably better than all of them put together. It was true that he had spent his entire nineteen years of life preparing for battle, and training his abilities in fighting. He had no favorite food, no hobbies. He had no other goal in life, but to kill his brothers, and have their blood on his hands. Plato had no friends. Only his master, who had trained him long and hard throughout his life... relentless training that made his mind bend and twist... Plato was a living, breathing, death machine. He knew no play. He knew only discipline or focus at any given time. Even master Splinter could not seem to fight past Plato's expert defenses.

It came to pass that Leonardo managed to stab the tip of his katana into Plato's chest. Plato pulled back, and did a spin, smacking Leo's blade in the center and sending it out of Leo's hand and onto the ground. Raphael took this chance, and plunged one of his sei deep into Plato's right arm. Plato was not expecting this. And he was also not expecting the next attack, which came from Casey. He had took several steps up and swung his hockey stick into the midsection of Plato, sending him backwards... toward Raphael. This gave Raph the chance to stab his other sei right into Plato's left chest.

When Plato hard pavement of the street, he lay still. Leonardo stepped forward and put his blade to Plato's throat, putting a considerable amount of pressure, but not yet puncturing the skin. "TELL US WHY YOU ARE DOING THIS TO US? YOU KILLED OUR SISTER. And made our brother blind... there is no excuse... but we deserve to know WHY!" Leo said, applying more pressure to Plato's throat.

"I've known nothing else but a purpose. It is not my fault. But I also do not regret anything I have done. Neither would you, if you were like me. But alas none of you have anything in common with me except the biological fundamentals and origins. We are the same flesh and blood; there is no seperation between our biology. I am your lost brother." Plato murmured.

"Who taught you to hate us?" Leonardo asked.

"My master. He is not with us anymore, though. I know not where he went to. He dissapeared. But I knew he wanted me to complete my mission... but I have failed now. You can kill me. You are the victor. Make it swift, please."

"It would be good for you to tell us what your master looked like. We may know who he is or where he went." Leo said.

"Tall. Mighty capable muscles. Brownish... mousy hair."

" 'The hell is he talking about?" said Casey, lifting up his mask to get some fresh air to his face. Plato's eyes fell on Casey and his expression went blank. As if a realization had hit him like a stack of speeding bricks. Then, a smile came to Plato's mouth.

"Master." Plato whispered.

Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and Splinter all looked to Casey, confused about what Plato had said. "Master? What does he mean, Casey?" asked Michelangelo.

"Maybe he means what he says. Ever consider that not everything has a hidden messege? It's pretty blunt, my friends. He says that I'm his master." said Casey, leaning on his hockey stick. "Ya found me out!"

The group was suddenly speechless. Casey turned and walked in the other direction, toward the apartment building.

"Master! Come back! PLEASE! Don't keep visiting that whore! She is no good for you, master! You are like a father to me... I don't want to see that whore hurt your feelings!" Plato yelled, ranking Raphael's seis from his body and tossing them to the ground. He was practically covered in blood.

Leonardo took off at a run toward Casey, who had just entered the apartment. "COME BACK HERE!"

Splinter motioned for the others to follow, and they all took off running to Casey----All except Plato, who had gotten to his feet. He was walking down the street, slowely. Dragging his feet from the lack of blood going through his system, Plato did not make his way to the apartment: but began walking toward a destination that he knew nothing about. He did not know where he was going. He did not care. Unbuckling his belt and strap, Plato let all four of his katanas fall to the ground, as he continued to walk.

"He left me. Again. For that stupid whore. He left... again." Plato whispered. As the blood flowed from the heart wound to his chest, his steps became gradually slower. "Dammit. It hurts so much... physically... emotionally..." he spat of blood from his mouth. "Sorry, brothers. Dammit I'm sorry... for messing... with all of you. Sorry, sister... for wanting to have sex... with you... and killing you." Dropping to his knees, he looked to the afternoon sky, which was etched with many shades of blue.


End file.
